Chapter 2
The Reunion
Killian
Five years later
I scoff as I glance from the address on my phone to the dilapidated building on the other side of the road. Peeling paint, old bricks, and a rusty fire escape. I knew Jenna didn’t come from much, but I didn’t expect this tragic dump.
I button my jacket to relieve the frosty bite of the January air while I cross the street, then ring the bell of flat 1B.
After trying three times without luck, I round the building to take a look.
The curtains are wide open, the windows close enough to the street to peek in.
At first, I’m not sure I have the right window as it’s all generic furniture, but then I see the digital piano in the corner and the pretty pink blouses hanging over the back of a chair.
Apparently, Jenna hasn’t outgrown her innocent princess phase.
Shaking my head, I take out my phone and enter the second address on my list into my GPS. Ten minutes by car, it informs me. I return to the cracked-up parking lot and cast another glance at the building before getting into my blue Jaguar F-Type.
I wonder if Jenna has a boyfriend as decrepit as that building or if she’s all alone.
It’s probably the latter. Judging from what I got from paying an old friend to hack into her socials, she doesn’t have anyone.
Her mom died of liver failure two years ago, and a few impersonal condolences were all she got, and what few friends she has all seem to be loose connections.
The café I arrive at ten minutes later doesn’t look much better than the dilapidated building Jenna calls home. The mere idea of going in there makes me want to change into a cheaper suit to spare my Armani the grime of a place like that.
Stepping inside, I wince at the scent of fried food and the tired floorboards creaking under my shoes.
It doesn’t look as disgusting as it does from the outside, but I’m still itching to get out of here.
I’m of half a mind to leave and try Jenna’s flat later in the day when I see an unassuming brunette with a heart-shaped face, a button nose, and eyes as wide and round as a pathetic little fawn that has gotten lost in the woods.
Jenna.
She’s at a table near the window, taking an order from an old woman with fragile bones and a strict scowl.
“Eggs over hard. None of that runny yolk,” the old woman reminds Jenna with a lifted finger.
“As usual,” Jenna agrees with a smile.
“Don’t forget to write that down.”
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Bower, we know how you take your eggs,” Jenna says, but scribbles on her small pad anyway. “How are the grandchildren?” She pockets her pen and aims her full attention at the old lady.
I roll my eyes at the sight of her big, bright smile. Still the same pathetic girl as always, smiling and trying to please even though she doesn’t have a single thing to smile about. It still annoys the shit out of me.
Mrs. Bower reaches into her purse to find her wallet and show Jenna a picture, and her frown disappears. “Jack just turned one, and he’s already walking, from one end of the living room to the other in thirty seconds. An old woman like me can’t keep up.”
Jenna leans in to look at the picture, pretending it’s the first time, even though it’s probably the hundredth. “He’s so cute.”
“He certainly is.” Mrs. Bower closes her wallet, and her scowl returns. “Now off you go. And remember about those eggs.”
“Of course,” Jenna assures and sets off toward the kitchen, her smile lingering even as she turns her back to the fussy customer. She casts a quick look my way, too brief to recognize me. “I’ll be right with you, sir. Have a seat wherever you like.”
Hearing the word ‘sir’ from her lips does strange things to me. There’s a slow buzzing inside me as I slide into a booth and watch her grab a menu, then head down the aisle toward me.
She still hasn’t noticed who I am when she stops at my table, taking the notebook and pen from her breast pocket.
“Would you like to start with something to drink while you decide?” She aims her bright smile at me, but the moment our eyes collide, she blanches. The spark in her eyes goes out like a light, and her lips fall into a straight line. “Killian?”
“Hi, princess.” I offer her a smile of my own, only not so friendly. “How have you been?” I glance down at her mustard yellow uniform. “Well, you don’t have to answer that.” I widen my smile a bit. “It’s already quite clear.”
Her mouth tightens. “What do you want?”
“I have an offer for you.” I gesture to the seat across from me. “Sit down.”
She averts her gaze. “I’m not interested.”
I rake my eyes down her body. At the disgustingly yellow uniform and the stained white apron.
For five years, not a day has gone by that I haven’t wondered how she looked, and this is what she gives me.
My mouth twists with disgust. But then I study her face.
Her lips are still full and rosy, and her big eyes are as vibrantly green as I remember them, although the spark has faded somewhat.
There’s a tired look in them now, but even so, that vulnerable innocence remains.
I lower my voice and imbue it with the dominant tone I’ve learned through five years of eager BDSM exploration. “Sit down.”
The effect is just what I’m going for. Her breath hitches, and her eyes become even wider as she lifts her gaze to me. I hold it, imbuing my expression with command. And Jenna can’t resist. She slides into the booth, although she clearly doesn’t want to.
“Good girl,” I tell her, though not very nicely.
Her jaw hardens further, and she hugs her arms around her middle. She really shouldn’t do that. The protective gesture only lifts her breasts, drawing my attention to the nice handful they have grown into.
“Do you like it here?” I ask, glancing around at the place—the worn seats and rough edges.
She looks out of place here. Despite her origins, I always imagined her ending up in elegant surroundings.
Concert halls and recording studios. Even after I ruined her, the image remained, only the concert hall changed to a fancy corner office with her name on the door.
Despite the tiredness lingering in her eyes, she looks out of place here.
But then I remember the splatters of cum on her back and the mascara smeared on her cheeks as she scrambled off the piano bench, and I think she’s just where she belongs—right where I put her. Far below me.
“What do you want?” There’s a slight tremble to her voice now. I think she’s just barely holding it together. “I’ve done what you said. I haven’t played for anyone for years.”
I open my bag, pull out the folder I’ve brought for her, and hold it out.
“What’s this?” She tentatively takes it.
“A proposition.”
She swallows hard when she opens the folder and sees the sheet music inside. Then her expression twists with disbelief. “Is this some kind of cruel joke?”
“I need to win the duo category in Rome in September. I can’t find a good match. My dad suggested you, so here I am.”
“I don’t play anymore, remember.”
I scoff. “Don’t lie to me, princess. I saw the digital piano through your window.”
Her fingers tighten around the sheet music, crumbling it slightly. “I only ever play at home. You never told me I couldn’t do that.”
“You’re right. I didn’t. Which is a good thing. Otherwise, you’d be useless to me. You might still be, but Dad will be the judge of that.”
She stares down at the sheet music and heaves a heavy sigh, undoubtedly imagining playing the music.
It’s one of her favorite pieces. Smetana’s “Die Moldau” transcribed for piano, four hands.
Jenna has always wanted to play it. As much as I ignored her when we were in school together, I would often stay close and listen in on her conversations with her friends, knowing she was my biggest competition. Keep your enemies close and all that.
“Why would I do this for you? Are you gonna blackmail me again? You know, if you post that video, you’re distributing child pornography. I was sixteen.”
I trail my eyes demonstratively down her uniform. “I don’t think I have to. You’re desperate. You have nothing to live for. Nothing to lose.”
Hurt fills her eyes. “You don’t know anything about me.”
I shrug. “Am I wrong?”
“I have a plan,” she says, her jaw hardening.
“Yeah? Does that plan involve playing again?”
She doesn’t answer, so I cut to the chase, offering her the only shot she’ll ever get at returning to the path of fulfilling her lifelong dream of becoming a concert pianist.
“Think about it, but don’t take too long.
You have two weeks to learn the first three pages.
There’s a date, time, and address at the back of the first page.
Be there on time and convince my dad that you can do this, and he’ll spend the next eight months teaching you intensively.
He’ll even cover all the costs of the competition. ”
Her rosy lips part slightly, glittering from the gloss she has applied. At that moment, she looks exactly like that sixteen-year-old girl who stood in my music room, thinking the boy she had crushed on for years wanted her, having no idea about the perverted things I was about to do to her.
My cock stirs. As much as I’ve been thinking about her and replaying that night in my head—rewatching the video until I turned eighteen—I thought it was just because she was my first kinky experience.
But as I watch her now, I’m gripped by a sudden urge to throw her over the table, rip her clothes off, and give her the same degrading treatment I did that night.
“Even if I wanted to, I don’t have the time.” She drops the sheet music onto the table. “I have work.”
“Call in sick.”
She gives a repeated shake of her head. “I need the money.”
“That’s not my problem.” I grab my bag and get up, closing the distance between us.
As I’m about to pass her, I lean down and say in a low voice, “Tell me, sweet Jenna, how many times have you fantasized about that night? How many times have you come to the thought of me stuffing that plug inside your ass?”
She pulls away with a jerk. “Never.”
I grab her jaw and deepen my voice. “Tell me the truth.”
Her jaw hardens as she stares up at me. She doesn’t reply, and she doesn’t have to. The answer is bright and clear in the shame that washes over her face.
I smile and tap her cheek. “That’s what I thought.”
Then I walk away with an aching hard-on and a new and better plan brewing in my mind.
Jenna won’t just be my piano partner. She’ll be mine.